


Theatre Geek

by ghostinthecorner



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Begging, Diogenes Club, Friendship/Love, Gay, Hamilton References, Hurt/Comfort, Love (if you squint), M/M, Sick Character, St Bartholomew's Hospital, Taxis, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthecorner/pseuds/ghostinthecorner
Summary: Everyone loves musicals. No one more than Sherlock. But on the eve of the biggest show in the world, he still can't get tickets.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to my friend Sarah. I missed their birthday, and I felt like I needed to get them something. Happy 17th, Sarah! 
> 
> Ace

“But Mycroft! You can-”

“Sherlock, do you realize how absurd this is?!” Mycroft cut him off. “I'm not doing this!”

“Please, Mycroft? I _need_ this!” Sherlock was about to drop and grovel at his brother’s feet.

“You're not going to die if you can't see _Hamilton_!” He looked at his younger brother and his pleading face.

“No, it's not essential for me to live, but-”

“Then you don't _need_ to see it!” Mycroft mocked.

“Yes, I do!” Sherlock tried to make himself taller, more intimidating. “Tickets are sold out for months! And as if I can ever get a decent seat with my income! You're the whole damn British government! You'll be able to pull some strings!” Mycroft was practically red. “Please.” He said quietly, shrinking back.

“Sherlock,” The elder brother began as calmly as he could. “I am not going to waste my time to get you tickets to some musical. End of discussion.” He stated sternly.

“It's not just some show, Mycroft! It's-”

“So help me, Sherlock, if you do not leave right now, some very unfortunate things are going to happen to everyone involved with _Hamilton_.” The smirk on his face was as ugly as the Devil himself.

Huffing, Sherlock flipped his coat out as he left the club. “Taxi!” He shouted at the almost empty street. As a black taxi rolled up, the detective could hardly quell his anger. “Baker street, please.” He said before going silent.

Mycroft just doesn't get it! He's never felt the joy of... never felt the joy of _anything_! He wouldn't understand what this meant to him. Doesn't he remember their childhood?

Before he could slip into a moment of reminiscing, the taxi lurched to a stop.

“That’ll be thirty pounds, mate.” The driver turned to face him. Sherlock opened his wallet and handed the driver the money.

“Keep the change.” He said as he climbed out of the car. He glared at the familiar dark green door. Flinging it open, Sherlock threw his jacket and his scarf on the coat rack and began to march up the stairs.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called.

“Not now.” He glowered. He just wanted to be alone for a while.

“Sherlock! Come down here!” She called again.

“Not now, Mrs. Hudson!” He shouted at her. She was halfway up the stairs, glaring at him.

“I just got a call from John.” She said calmly. “Mary's been hospitalized. He's on his way to pick you up.” She smiled half-heartedly, went back downstairs.

“Mary's in the hospital?” Sherlock asked quietly.

Mrs. Hudson turned back around. “Yes. I think he said pneumonia. Pretty bad, apparently.”

“Huh.” He breathed. Mary's in the hospital. Of course she was, she's human. Why had she always seemed so invincible.

“Are you ok?” Mrs. Hudson was in front of him now, with a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock shrugged. He didn't know if he was or not. Mary did mean a lot to him, but, she shot him a couple years ago. That didn't matter much, but she also shattered John's heart. She was still an amazing woman, and a close friend. So, he guessed he was upset. It did feel that way... so he's upset. Yes. He's upset.

“I'm fine.” He responded quietly. Mrs. Hudson squeezed his shoulder a bit. She smiled with pure sincerity, and Sherlock felt himself smile back.

“Well, you better get a move on. John will be here in a few minutes.” She stepped out of his way. He went down the stairs, and redressed in his coat. Stepping out into the cool London air, Sherlock took a deep breath.

He still wanted to punch a hole through the wall.

The news of Mary's sickness had startled him, but he was still pissed off at his brother. His whole life, theatre had been important. He was in just about every show his school’s had. He'd even been in a few professional ones. He's also seen every show that has ever come through London. He was the leader of his high school’s Thespian troupe.

Mycroft knew how important theatre was to Sherlock. And it deeply offended him that Mycroft refused to get him tickets to the first sold out show in years. It hasn't been this bad since the _Billy Elliot_ anniversary. And even then, he'd managed to score a ticket.

The whirr of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts. A black cab pulled up in front of him. John stuck his head out of the window.

“Get in. We need to get to St. Bart’s.” John looked like he'd been crying. Sherlock put his anger to the side and climbed into the taxi.

“How are you?” He asked as they pulled away.

John shook his head. “Not good. I was out when she called an ambulance, and I got to the hospital as soon as I could. They wouldn't let me see her, so I called Mrs. Hudson and came to get you.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand. “I'm having trouble. They said she's doing terribly. I just... “ A few more tears slipped down his face. “I don't know what to do.”

Sherlock put his hand over his and John's. “It's going to be alright. She's a tough woman, she'll pull through.” He smiled like Mrs. Hudson had earlier. It seemed to work, since John smiled back.

The crying man set his head on the headrest, closing his eyes. If course he's tired. So is Sherlock. It's been an emotional day for them both.

With the traffic heavy, it gave him time to think. God, his brother can be a prick. He's stuck up, he thinks he's so smart. ‘Oh, I'm Mycroft, and I'm the British government. My time is entirely too valuable to do something kind for my little brother.’

“You ok?” John was looking at him, an eyebrow raised. He didn't notice that he tightened his hand.

“Fine.” Sherlock spat. “Just hating my brother.”

“More than usual?”

He took a breath. “Very much so.”

John laughed. It was good to hear him laugh after everything that's been happening. The car stopped in front of St. Bart’s. Sherlock paid the man as John climbed out of the car.

They entered the building. John practically ran to the front desk.

“We’re here to see Mary Watson.” He said hurriedly. “I'm her husband, and this is a family friend.” Sherlock smiled at the receptionist.

She typed at her computer, and after a minute, she looked up smiling. “Follow me.” The men followed the young woman towards the back of the hospital. When they finally entered a room, they saw a bed. Mary was laying on it.

God, she looked _terrible._ She was so pale, and had heavy circles under red eyes. She coughed every minute or so, and it looked painful.

Almost instantly, John was at her bedside. He held her hand, lightly petting it. She smiled at him weakly.

“Hey honey.” He said softly. “How are you doing?”

Mary chuckled. “The doctor said that I'm in for a couple weeks. I'm horribly sick, but it probably won't be fatal.” Sherlock walked up next to John, smiling brightly at Mary. “Hey smartass.” She smiled back.

“Ah, Mary. Hilarious as usual.” He chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty sickly. And a little bit sad.”

“Why's that?” John asked.

“Well,” She began. “I had a surprise for you. I was going to show them to you at dinner tonight.” John looked confused. Sherlock was curious. “I managed to get us tickets to _Hamilton_.” Sherlock gasped. He felt his eyes go wide. “It was difficult, but I managed it. They're pretty good tickets, too. Opening night, fifth row, center.”

“That's amazing.” John was smiling brightly. “That would've been fun to see.”

“You can still see it tomorrow.” Mary looked up at Sherlock. “Why don't you two go to see it? Guys night out.”

John looked up at him at him and laughed. “You look like an excited puppy.” The married couple started laughing. Sherlock laughed along. He couldn't hide his excitement. After weeks of begging to no avail, he _finally_ had tickets to his dream show.

“I'd love to go.”

“Great then. It's a date.” John joked. Both he and Mary laughed harder. Sherlock just smiled.

The next day was pure agony. Just waiting for the show was exhausting. But Sherlock was excited no matter what. He was practically buzzing as he got ready.

“Sherlock! What the hell is taking so long in there?” John shouted from the living room. He quickly finished dressing and burst out to meet John.

John laughed when he saw Sherlock. “You are not going out like that.” He was confused as the shorter man approached him. John started to fix his tie.

“Hurry up, we're going to be late.” Sherlock whined.

John laughed. “We’ll be fine. Just be patient.”

“Oh, look at you!” Mrs. Hudson beamed from the doorway. “I've never seen you so excited, Sherlock!”

The shorter man stepped back and looked up at him. “You're right. That smile is as bright as the sun.”

“Hold still. I want to take a picture!” Mrs. Hudson held her camera up. Both boys posed together. The camera snapped, and they were off.

The cab ride seemed endless. So did the line. But it would all be worth it to see _Hamilton._ It was the most popular show in years, and Sherlock wanted to indulge in the fanfare.

“You ready?” John looked up at him as they entered the theatre.

Sherlock smiled. “Oh hell yes.” He grabbed John's hand and dragged them both to their seats.

As they sat down, John looked around. “I have no idea how Mary could’ve gotten us these seats. They're fantastic!”

“You married a miracle worker.” Sherlock looked down at him. His face was starting to hurt from all of the smiling he was doing. But he just couldn't quell his excitement.

The orchestra began to play the music that signified the beginning of the show. Sherlock gasped loudly. John chuckled as they both looked toward the stage. Sherlock grabbed the other man’s hand. He felt John squeeze.

  
“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore... “

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ghost-in-the-corner) if you want to chat! And please leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed!


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